For the longest time

VII

First of all, I'd like to thank you all people who have been reading this, even if I'm the worst because I never update. Special thanks to teddysguitarpicks for being the first person to comment on my story. It really made my day and I really hope you like this next chapter.

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That night, I passed out on the motel's bed with a stupid grin on my face. The car horns outside didn't bother me, nor did the loud moans coming from next door. I slept like a baby.

I hadn't imagined Ed Sheeran to be the person I was getting to know. His whole stage persona was a grown man who loved women and booze, having fun at the pub with his friends and getting drunk on the weekends while being completely lovesick. The man I had been spending my time with was a scared boy who wasn't sure who he was anymore. He couldn't recognize himself in his music after everyone's opinions infected it and therefore, he couldn't recognize himself. It was sad but somehow endearing, and rather flattering to know he could open up to me like that. I was glad that I trusted him enough to open up to him as well.

Morning, what are you doing today? Found a job yet?

I read his text while I sat on the edge of the bed with the towel still wrapped around my body from the morning shower. I felt as if I were back in high school again, and I was texting my friends before classes started. It was familiar and refreshing and brand new all at the same time.

Still hunting

Someone knocked on my door and I quickly threw an oversized hoodie over my naked body. It was the guy from the desk, the scrawny one that worked the night shift. "Erin, right?"

"Yeah?"

For a moment, I thought he was going to ask me out. How narcissistic of me. I stood in front of him, feeling seductive because a light breeze hit my naked thighs and the fabric was smooth against my bare chest. For a moment, I felt sexy.

"Are you going to stay another night? I really need you to pay before noon, otherwise, I'm going to have to give the room to someone else."

"Fuck" Ed cursed, annoyed, "do you have the money?"

"No." I threw my belongings into my duffel bag with one hand and held the phone against my ear with the other. "I guess I either get a job today or I get a job today. I really don't want to sleep in Central Park. I know it's one of those badass things a lot of writers did before getting published, but I don't want to. I'm not badass."

His faint laughter didn't make me feel any better. I felt hopeless. And even though I knew he had money, I didn't want to ask him for some. It felt degrading and wrong and just pathetic. I think he understood that because he didn't offer it, even though something inside of me told me he wanted to. "You know, you can crash in my room if you want."

The silence lasted for more seconds that I could count, I stood there, next to the bed and looking out the window. It was the most sensible choice out of this chaotic scenario, I knew that. But I couldn't take it, I wasn't some kind of charity. "No, but thanks. I'll try harder today."

He didn't say anything, and I appreciated it.

Walking through the streets of New York with a full duffel bag on my shoulder was exhausting. I went into every store asking for a job, but no one was hiring. It was 2 pm and I wanted to give up. I found myself outside a hotel and sat on the sidewalk across from it, I lit a cigarette and wondered how the fuck I ended up here. At least back in college, I had food and a roof.